


Dear Doctor Do Not Heal Thyself (seriously, you'll make it worse)

by GenuineSnoof



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Banner Needs a Hug, Bruce Banner is an idiot, Bruce is too much of a fuzzy idiot to be aware of that, Clint is once again the smartest person in the room, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Poor Bruce Banner, Protective Clint Barton, Protective Team
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 15:03:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7537390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GenuineSnoof/pseuds/GenuineSnoof
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some injuries inflicted on the Hulk during a mission are not going away. Bruce is being an idiot about it, as expected. Clint helps by not agreeing to Bruce's plan, because crazy scientists shouldn't be trusted to treat themselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dear Doctor Do Not Heal Thyself (seriously, you'll make it worse)

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Swearing and vid game squirrels.
> 
> Thanks once more to Unbreakable92 for being her excited and kind self.

It was pretty early in the morning, and Clint was playing a video game in the ginormous kitchen on the 14th floor of Stark Tower, the one where he kept his favourite breakfast cereals. He'd been on a mission for three days and had just returned the day before to report to Steve and then fall asleep for 16 hours in his usual guest room. 

Now he felt refreshed, well-rested, not hungry anymore thanks to Captain Crunch, and pretty pleased with himself because he had just killed a fuckload of weird-looking squirrel things in the game he was currently playing.

It was called 'Squirrelnado' and God knew why Tony had it. It looked like something a teenager with an odd phobia would have created in the seventies if they'd had the equipment back then.

He had just reached level three, where you got to choose to disguise yourself as a ninjasquirrel and infiltrate the Squirrel Squad, when Bruce entered the room. Or... sort of entered, but remained standing in the doorway for so long Clint thought about cracking a joke about vampires not being allowed to enter until they were invited.

He decided it'd be wasted on Bruce, though. "Hey Doc."

"Morning."

Clint glanced away from the screen to see Bruce shuffle to the counter and stare at the coffee machine. "Long night?"

"Hm," Bruce shrugged, winced and turned around, leaning against the counter for a bit and watching Clint kill squirrels. "They look scary."

Clint cast him a quick frown. "Well, they're rodents."

Bruce nodded absently, then turned around again, scratching his forehead. "You want coffee?"

"No, thanks."

Bruce shoulders slumped. "Me neither."

Clint looked at him holding on to the breakfast counter, head bowed and looking exhausted enough to drop any second. He paused the game. 

"Are you all right?" he asked warily, wondering if he should brace himself for a morning encounter with Big Green. It wasn't like Bruce to wander about instead of going straight to the safe room when he felt like an "incident" might occur, but right now he looked beat enough to maybe not be thinking straight. 

Clint flinched a tiny bit when Bruce straightened his shoulders and turned around again, but managed to hide his tension once Bruce was smiling tiredly at him. 

"Yeah, I think so." Bruce paused. "I'm not sure." He nervously rubbed at his nose. "I had Jarvis tell me where you were. Uhm... can I... can I talk to you for a second? I mean, unless..." He gestured for the screaming squirrel frozen on the enormous screen.

"That's not a real mission," Clint said, smiling when Bruce just stared at him. "It's just a game, Bruce, of course I have time. What's up?"

Bruce seemed relieved at first, then suddenly unsure again. Fidgeting with the hem of his rumpled shirt, he took a step closer, but stopped. "Uhm... There might be a problem. Maybe," he added quickly, as if afraid Clint would snap at him. "Just maybe. I'm not sure, yet. I'm... I've run a lot of tests, but so far, I've no idea what exactly is going on. And, uh... I think I should probably tell someone. Or leave," he added as if to himself. It sounded like he was repeating what a part of him had been telling him to do in his mind for quite a while now. "Anyway, you're the most reasonable person around here and I'd appreciate your opinion."

Clint pursed his lips. "I am, aren't I? The most reasonable person in... well, this building. Ain't saying much." He smiled wryly. "What is it? You finally analysed that sample you took from Thor and found out-" 

He jumped to his feet when Bruce suddenly squeezed his eyes shut with a tiny groan and swayed a little. He grabbed Bruce's arm, ignored the flinch that caused and led him to the couch. "Okay, I get it, no joking matter. Just don't faint or whatever, it's scary when you do that. D'you need anything? Glass of water?"

Bruce shook his head. He leant slightly forward, drew in deep breaths and eventually cast Clint an apologetic smile. "Sorry. I didn't mean to be so dramatic. I'm just tired."

"This isn't exactly the most dramatic I've seen of you," Clint said.

"True."

When Bruce didn't continue, Clint nudged his shoulder gently with his. "C'mon, what is it? You can tell reasonable me."

"I'm hurt."

Clint frowned. "What?"

"I'm hurt," Bruce repeated. "Injured. What happened to the other guy the last time isn't... going away." He cast Clint a timid side glance, then inspected his socked feet again. "I mean, it is, I guess, just not at Hulk speed. It shouldn't be there at all. Normally, I heal within minutes."

"I didn't know the other guy even gets injured," Clint said. He'd moved away a little to inspect Bruce closer.

"Yes," Bruce said. "Also that. Usually. He can get hurt," he said after a moment's thought. "He does sometimes. But it's just like a bad migrane, and after a long nap it's all gone."

Clint watched Bruce, thinking he didn't like knowing that. For the past months, he'd been secretly envying Bruce after every mission, because, yes, he always looked exhausted, but unscathed, unlike himself. Once they'd retrieved Bruce from wherever Big Green decided to shrink into an unconscious little pile of scientist, all you ever really had to do was put a blanket over him and wait for 10 hours, and then in he'd walk, happy as a clam, ready to eat Thor's weight in vegan shit. 

Why would you want to know the Hulk could actually give Bruce injury-induced migranes or anything? That wasn't useful information when you were, for example, using the Hulk as a shield against giant two-headed thingsy things. Or let huge alien robot chickens throw bus-sized bricks at him as part of your plan. 

Bruce had apparently been thinking the same thing, for he looked ready to apologise again. 

"Okay, yeah, but," Clint said quickly, "so... you're usually okay, even when the big guy gets smashed a little, but now you aren't." He frowned. "What exactly is wrong with you?"

Bruce looked tired, yes, but that wasn't unusual, and when he was *very* tired, he'd look just as pale as he did now, too. There was a bit of a strain on his face that seemed new, though. 

"Are you in pain?"

Bruce drew in one corner of his mouth, not looking at Clint, and nodded slightly. "It's not bad," he said, before Clint could react. "That isn't the problem." He glanced at Clint again, so obviously helpless it made Clint feel uncomfortable. 

It hit him that the last mission the Hulk had been on, the one where he must've got hurt, had been almost a week ago. After, Bruce had basically moved into his lab, but that wasn't uncommon for him. All this time, he'd kept to himself, worrying - and Bruce was aces at worrying - and possibly in pain, alone in his lab. For him to now turn to anyone and seek help was clear testament of how serious he himself thought this was.

Clint suddenly longed for brainless squirrel-shooting. "How bad is it?" he asked and at Bruce's sceptical expression added, "Sooner or later you have to show someone, anyway. Or is it some sort of injury that'll make fair ladies blush?"

Bruce cast him that weary look Clint knew mostly from when Tony was in the room, then shoved up his right sleeve to reveal a large bandage that covered most of his forearm. Another peeked out from under the rest of his sleeve, stopping just short of his elbow. Carefully, he removed the gauze and after a brief moment looked up at Clint almost fearfully, as if half expecting Clint to call him a wuss. 

Clint was far from it. The scratch Bruce sported on his arm wasn't the grossest thing he'd ever seen, but it was good competition. 

It was wide, ragged, oozing some unidentifiable green whatever that made it glisten as if it'd just stopped bleeding and all in all looked like a poisonous crocodile from outer space had bit Bruce. Slender green and red lines ran away from the worst parts of it, making it obvious some sort of infection had set in. 

"Man," Clint said, grimacing. "Do all of them look that bad? You got more of those, right?"

Bruce nodded ruefully. "They're not all like that," he said, frowning unhappily at his arm.

"You mean some are worse?"

"Some aren't," Bruce said. 

"Okay." Clint drew in a deep breath, trying to think of something helpful to say, as he kept staring at the wound. "If you ask me, it looks like something out of Star Trek. Has the big guy fought any Borg recently?"

Bruce smiled tiredly. "I know what caused them, Clint. You were there."

"Oh, yeah, that giant... Wow, yeah, that really..." Clint frowned suddenly, remembering the battle. "That thing really had a go at Big Green. You must be covered in those."

"I'm fine," Bruce said and reapplied the bandage, then rolled down his sleeve.

Clint watched him trying to suppress a wince - more or less failing - and gently touched Bruce's arm where he thought it'd be okay to. Bruce looked up. "What did you think I can do? All I'm gonna say is you need to let someone look at you, but you know that's what you need to do, so... Why don't you?"

"Yeah?" Bruce snapped, keeping his gaze fixed on Clint's hand on his arm. "Someone? Like, who, a doctor? I'm a doctor, I can check out myself just fine, thanks."

Carefully, Clint withdrew his hand. "Okay."

Bruce sighed and ducked his head. "Sorry." He closed his eyes, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead, then ran it down his face and peeked up at Clint. "I need your help."

Clint studied him for a moment, taking in the way Bruce attempted a somewhat desperate smile. It was painfully obvious how much effort it cost him to ask for help.  
Even admitting the fact he might need help from anyone at all wasn't something Bruce did. Ever. 

Clint frowned. "With what?"

Bruce's shy little smile - that Clint was beginning to suspect was all an act to hide the fact Bruce took him for a bit of an idiot - widened a tiny fraction. "To transform," he said. "I've been trying to get the other guy to come out and heal me... us up, but it, uh, i-it didn't work." Seeing Clint's frown deepen, he quickly continued, "And I can't just go out and insult some drunk asshole's mother, can I?" He smiled some more, looking proud of himself for that line.

"You mean you want me to make you hulk out?"

The smile quickly vanished, when Bruce saw Clint wasn't impressed with his humour. He nodded. "In a safe environment. It'd be an uncontrolled transformation, and I've no idea how he's gonna react, if he'd be in pain or anything. Maybe he just curls up and cries." He tried the smiling again but quickly stopped at Clint's expression. "The more likely scenario is that he'll be pretty... angry," he finished lamely. 

Clint watched him in silence. He thought it was amazing all that crazy could come out of the mouth of someone as smart as Bruce. 

"We'll do it in a completely safe way," Bruce hastened to say. "F-for you, I mean. I found a suitable spot where we can put one of those desposible cages SHIELD has. It's a bit of a trip," he added, "but..." He averted his eyes, nervously fidgeting with his sleeve. "You'd be doing me a great favour. And... also, I think maybe you might   
be saving people. Since, uh..." He rubbed at his face. "I'm not sure how long this'll go on without him coming out, anyway. Not that I feel it. I don't even know if he's still there or... Maybe this is just killing me." He looked up to smile at Clint. "But is it really worth the alternative to find that out?"

"Have you told *anyone* about this, Doc?" Clint asked, ignoring Bruce's sarcasm. 

"Jarvis helped me with the tests," Bruce said. 

"Right."

"It's a unique opportunity," Bruce said defensively at Clint's tone of voice. "I had to see if we can extract something from the wounds that can be used in the future to render the other guy incapacitated. SHIELD woulda done the same," he added with a pout. "I just didn't strap myself down to a table, 's the only difference."

"If you can't hulk out, how do you know he'd be affected by this at all?"

"Well, *I*'m pretty affected by it right now," Bruce said and scratched his forehead. "I wrote an equation for it... Never mind. Are you going to help me or not?"

"I give you it is clearly affecting your brainy superpower," Clint said. He took a closer look at Bruce's eyes and tilted his head slightly. "How much pain medication are you on, anyway?"

Bruce smiled wryly. "Well, let's say that still doesn't seem to kill me."

"Oh good."

"I wouldn't have asked for your help if I'd thought you'd make such a big deal out of it," Bruce said suddenly, then seemed to realise he had said that out loud and leaned back on the couch, drawing in a deep breath. He shook his head slightly as if to clear it.

"I'm sure," Clint said, watching him. He wished there was an alarm button in the armrest of the couch that he could press to alert everyone else. Maybe not Pepper. He got the feeling Pepper might do serious harm to Bruce with the power of glaring if she heard all this.

"How do you know you can't hulk out on purpose?" he asked after a moment.

"I tried," Bruce said tiredly. He sat with his shoulders slumped, looking small and exhausted. If this was a new strategy to get Clint to help him it was a good start. "It hurt so much it knocked me out, didn't do anything else. I ... was gonna try an uncontrolled transformation, too, but..." He ducked his head in shame. "It just... really hurt?" He peeked up at Clint, cringing in embarrassment and gave a small shrug. "Couldn't bring myself to do it."

Clint arched his brows in sympathy. At the mental image of Bruce sitting in the safe room about to stab or shoot himself but too freaked out by the pain he encountered before, he almost hugged him. 

"Mighta been for the best," Bruce added, unaware of the effect his tale had on Clint. "Like I said, we don't know how he'll react. It could've been really dangerous."

"Right," Clint said. "And your solution is that I'll drop you in a Hulk cage at the North Pole or whatever and blow you up so you'll hulk out. *That*'s what you've come up with after thinking about this for a week."

Bruce averted his gaze, pouting slightly. "I was unconscious for about a day, and, no, you can't blow up the cage. Obviously. We want him to stay contained - if that's possible." He scratched his nose. "I was thinking we could suck out the oxygen while it's falling down."

Clint blinked dramatically. "Like, what, like "Saw" but with yourself?"

"I don't know what that means," Bruce said tiredly, "but I'd be real grateful if you could just-"

"Bruce," Clint cut him off, taking his arm as if to hold him in place, "time out. Okay? Just shut up. We're gonna do none of that shit. Jarvis, tell everyone to get here pronto. Use that dumbnuts phrase Steve uses."

"Avengers assemble," Jarvis said helpfully.

"Whatever," Clint said, tightening his hold on Bruce's arm. 

"Clint, please, this isn't-"

"You shut up," Clint snapped. 

TBC


End file.
